The fort's gates creaked open as Kairo's battered group returned, fewer than twenty of them still alive. Guards and soldiers rushed to carry the wounded, while whispers of Kairo's victory rippled through the courtyard.
Inside the hall, Kairo wasted no time. His clothes and armor were torn, his body trembling with exhaustion, yet his pride burned hotter than the pain. He strode before Lireath and the others and raised his voice.
"Viscount Lireath, you saw my men's condition!" he shouted, hoarse but fierce. "I led them against four hundred Vikings and won! I fought their leader head-on! If not for that man," his eyes cut toward Lumberling, venom in his glare, "it would've been my blade that ended the Berserker Warden."
"Yeah, if not for our help, none of you would've made it back," Skitz said, his tone casual.
Kairo's head snapped toward him. "What did you say? Are you stealing my credit again?"
